The Inappropriate Comments of the Day!

Whee! Patheos finally assimilated my blog into the Borg! They’ve been re-designing the format of all the blogs to optimize page views, which I personally think is very nice of them, so that’s why my blog looks different. I really love it. I think it’s neat, clean and professional-looking, which totally goes hand-in-hand with the contents of my blog. Right? Right?

And on that note, I bring to you, O Faithful Readers, the inappropriate comments of the day.

I’m not sure what it is about being 9 months pregnant with your 3rd, 4th, and subsequent children, but from what I’ve heard (and experienced), it seems to make everyone feel that it’s totally appropriate to freely discuss intimate reproductive choices in public places. Last pregnancy, I could not go to our neighborhood Trader Joe’s in Vegas without one woman asking me if the Ogre was “gonna get snipped now.” This time it’s even worse.

Exhibit A: the blood-draw technician (is that a technical term?) at the Quest by my doctor’s office.

Exhibit B: the pharmacist, who is extremely sweet and always careful to review all medications with me, and who fills my prescriptions first because I (and this is a direct quote) “look like you just want to die, darling!”

Pharmacist: “Just so you know, phenergen has recently been moved to Class C during pregnancy, but it’s still considered safer than the other migraine meds.”

Me: “Okay, thank you so much. I’m so glad I really only have to deal with migraines during pregnancy. At least I know there’s an end in sight! I feel so bad for people who suffer from migraines all the time.”

Pharmicist: “Oh, I know! I had terrible hormonal migraines during pregnancy and my cycles, so after my second baby I got spayed! That took care of everything. It was the best choice I ever made!”

Me: *awkward, incredulous silence*

Exhibit C: the check-out receptionist at the neurologist’s office.

Check-out receptionist (referring to Charlotte): “She is just adorable! Do you know if you’re having another girl?”

Me: “Actually I’m having a boy.”

Check-out receptionist: “Oh how perfect! One boy and one girl!”

Me: “Actually, I have a six-year-old girl and a two-year-old boy at home, so it’ll be two and two.”

Check-out receptionist: “Oh. Wow. So you guys just can’t figure out what causes that, can you?”

Me: *totally deadpan* “No, we keep asking people and they just keep telling us to get a TV. I can’t figure out what TV has to do with all these kids, though.”

Seriously. That all happened in the span of about 2 hours. I probably would have been slightly more charitable about the endless fascination with the state of my future reproductive health if I hadn’t been greeted by the check-in receptionist thusly:

Check-in receptionist: “So, are you ever going to have that baby?”

Me: “I certainly hope so. The doctor says about three more weeks.”

Check-in receptionist: “I don’t know how you’re going to make it three more weeks.”

Me: “Yeah, me neither.”

Check-in receptionist: “I mean, you’re huge.”

Me: “I know.”

Check-in receptionist: “But you’re really enormous.”

Me: “Yeah, I know.”

Check-in receptionist:”Just so you know, that baby is going to weigh at least 20 pounds.”

Me: “I doubt he’ll weigh that much.”

Check-in receptionist: “No, he has to. You’re just so huge.”

Me: *awkward, incredulous silence*

Check-in receptionist: “I feel really sorry for you.”

Me: *withering glare*

Check-in receptionist: *calling over her shoulder* “Nancy, isn’t she huge?”

And to top it all off, my husband snapped this picture of me sacked out on the couch yesterday afternoon. He said he took the picture because it was “sweet”, but my first thought upon seeing it was, “Holy hell, I am ENORMOUS!” followed quickly by, “my face is so swollen. Do I really look like that?”

When I voiced these concerns out loud (sans the expletive), Sienna said, “I told you you looked like a beach ball.”